


Sigh No More

by TheRiverScribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s13e13 Devil's Bargain, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt Gabriel (Supernatural), Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Established Romance, Past Torture, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Trauma Recovery, hints of destiel - Freeform, hints of sabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: It's been three days since Dean and Castiel had left for the nightmare apocalypse world.Three days of research Sam had no way of sharing across dimensions.Three days of existing off black coffee and dry cereal.Three days of clutching a phone that never rang.Sam didn’t like waiting alone—he wasn’t used to it.'But you’re not alone,' his mind whispered.





	Sigh No More

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to my betas: ScrollingKingfisher, UmbraeCalamitas, and Nathyfaith   
> <3<3<3  
> Y'all are the best!! Thank you for crying and screaming with me this week!!!
> 
> **CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 13X13**  
> Title from the song "Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons. Lyrics are in the end notes!

It had been three days.

Sam moved like a ghost through the silent bunker.  Socks muffled his steps better than boots but they did nothing to prevent the cold floor from leeching away his body heat.  It bit at his bones and left him hollow.  Their home felt like a tomb.

Three days since Dean and Castiel had left for the nightmare apocalypse world.  They went, armed only with a hope and a prayer and classic Winchester luck, to rescue the two remaining members of their family.  The plan was flimsy but they’d done more with less. 

Three days of research he had no way of sharing across dimensions.

Three days of existing off black coffee and dry cereal.

Three days of clutching a phone that never rang.

A biblical amount of time.  Famines ended.  Jonah escaped the belly of a whale.  The dead rose from the grave.

Sam shivered, pulling a blanket tighter around his shoulders.  His eyes itched but sleep was an elusive thing.  He didn’t like waiting alone—he wasn’t used to it. 

 _But you’re not alone,_ his mind whispered.

Sam’s steps faltered, socks sliding on slick tile, before he caught himself against the wall.  He froze, holding his breath.  Silence.

Seven days ago, Dean began making plans.

Seven days ago, Castiel smuggled an artifact from Heaven that would allow them to cross dimensions.  

Seven days ago, Ketch showed up at their door with “proof” of his allegiance.

Seven days—also a biblical amount of time.

Sam drifted past the room that held Ketch’s evidence.  He needed hot coffee, and the kitchen gave him both caffeine and distance from that closed door.  The soles of his feet seemed like bare skin sliding across ice.

He waited for the brew, scrolling mindlessly through his phone.  No new calls.  No new texts.  No new messages at all. 

He wished they had milk and sugar.  Their kitchen was beyond empty.  But he couldn’t risk leaving to make a food run. 

The coffee was bitter on his tongue, but hot against his hands.  Breathing in the steam that washed over his face, he debated on returning to the library.  A stack of books waited for him there, but it felt futile. 

Instead, Sam settled into a kitchen chair and stared into the dark liquid.

When had everything become so meaningless?  Dean’s promises of purpose fell more and more flat with each well-intentioned pep talk.  They both knew it.

Sam couldn’t force himself to pretend anymore—couldn’t remember when he’d even started pretending.  Was it after their mother flung herself past Castiel’s corpse and into another world with Lucifer?  Or after days of torture when he knew without a doubt that his brother was dead?  After failing the trials, when Gadreel stole his body and mind without consent?  After losing Dean to purgatory and better monster brothers?  Did it stretch all the way back to the Cage? 

Maybe he’d been pretending his whole life.

The lights flickered. 

Sam jumped, knocking the mug over.  Coffee poured out across the table unnoticed.  Air caught in his throat as he tried to listen around his own heartbeat. 

The lights flickered again, teetering between flaring brighter and cutting out.  Sam counted to twelve before they finally returned to normal.  Twelve was biblical too.

Ignoring the mess dripping into the floor, he rose on shaky legs and made himself walk back toward the door.  Static crawled across his skin as he grew closer.  Every instinct screamed to run, told him that wooden planks provided no protection from the being on the other side. 

A spark shocked his palm when he touched the doorknob.  He tightened his grip in defiance of his own fear and turned the handle.  Centuries with Lucifer and Michael hadn’t broken him—he wasn’t about to fall apart after three days.

A figure stood by the bed, shrouded in darkness.  The hall light barely reached him, but it was enough.  Sam was well acquainted with the shadows—he’d dwelled within them far too long.

“Are you okay?” Sam whispered.

Lips, scarred from cursed stitches, pulled back in a sneer to reveal teeth still stained with blood.  “Where am I?” he demanded in a voice Sam had never heard before.  It was too low, too raspy—sharp like a serrated blade.

“You’re safe,” Sam promised.

The laugh he got in return held only malice.  “That is _not_ an answer,” he mocked, taking a step forward, “and you are a fool if you think I’d believe that.”

“It-it’s true!  I swear.”  Sam raised his hands slowly.  A plea and surrender.

“False!”  Dried blood mixed with spit spewed from his mouth.  “I know you lie.  I hear the deceit in your tone.  I _feel_ the truth seeping from your pores.  Do you even know who I am, you dim little soul?”

Sam swallowed hard against the rising acid of coffee.  Grace charged the air, burning his lungs.  “I do.”

“Then do not test me with false words.”  He stepped closer.  “ _Where_ am I?”

“Y-you’re in the Men of Letters’ bunker.  In Kansas!”

“Men of Letters,” Gabriel growled.  “The arrogance of humanity.  You think you can contain me?”

“What?  No!” Sam shook his head.  Electricity surged, humming loudly and making the hall lights flash. 

“Greater beings than you have tried—angels, demons, gods, a Prince of Hell.  All of them tried to break me.  They tried and failed.  What can you do to me that they didn’t?  Hmm?”

Sam shuddered.  _I’ve been tortured by the Devil himself…what can you do to me?_   Over a year later, the words were still too loud in his mind.  “N-nothing,” he sputtered.  “We don’t…we aren’t going to _do_ anything to you.”

“But you did do something.”  Inhuman eyes glinted with gold like a cat in the dark.  He stood strangely still, hands hanging forgotten or unneeded by his side.  Only the corner of his mouth moved, smirking.  “You claim to know who I am, yet you removed the threads from my lips.  Freed me from chains designed specifically for my kind.  Moved me to a new, lesser prison with feeble wards.  What _were_ you thinking?”

Sam licked his lips and tried to breathe.  His heart hammered so hard it made him dizzy.  “We were hoping—”

“That I’d be grateful?” the being interrupted with a snarl.  “That I’d feel indebted to you?  Become your own personal servant?  A genie-on-demand?”

“We were hoping you’d heal,” Sam answered, rushing his words to be heard. 

The gold disappeared as the eyes blinked, clearly caught off guard by the answer. 

Sam sighed, slowly moving his hand toward the switch on the wall.  “I’m just…I’m going to turn on the light, okay?”

“Why?  So you can see me when I kill you?”

“God, I hope not.”  Sam’s hands shook.  “Listen—no killing until you can see me.  See I’m telling the truth.  Okay?”

“By all means.  Turn on your light.”  The head tilted to the side as lips curled in cold amusement.  “Illuminate your monsters.  It won’t save you.”

Sam felt along the wall, not daring to take his eyes off that smile.  He found the switch, flipped it, and flooded the room with light.  It blinded him for a second.  When his vision cleared, the sight in front of him was even worse than he’d imagined.

Gabriel was horrifying.  Patches of dirt and blood stood out in stark contrast to his pale, almost translucent skin.  His hair hung in long, matted curls around a gaunt face.  His mouth held the mutilated marks from years of being sewn shut. 

But his eyes were the worst.  The whisky-brown that once twinkled with humor were now pools of rage and power and pain.  And behind that, a vast emptiness.

Sam stared, unable to look away once the archangel met his gaze.  “Do you know me?”

Gabriel frowned, stepping closer again.  He studied Sam in silence, scrutiny moving from his face down to his chest.  Still without speaking, he reached out a hand and held it over Sam’s heart.

Sam fought the urge to flee as the prickling static grew stronger.  The archangel’s presence surrounded him, filling the room and bunker and universe until nothing else existed.  It hurt, like jumping into the ocean with a thousand open cuts.

 _I’ve survived Lucifer time and time again.  Survived Lucifer and Michael together for centuries.  Survived God’s sister.  And now, I’m going to die by the hand of the prank-playing, candy-eating Trickster?_ Sam lamented.  Dean was going to be pissed if he came back to find Sam’s smote carcass in an empty bunker. 

“Sam?” Gabriel’s voice was suddenly small, his overwhelming presence evaporating.  “Sam…Winchester?”

A sob pushed the air out of Sam’s lungs.  He nodded, not sure he could speak.  If he was lucky, Gabriel would remember they’d been allies in the end.

Gabriel dropped his hand.  “You should be dead.”

Sam huffed an almost-laugh and leaned boneless against the wall.  _Pot—kettle,_ he wanted to say.  But he couldn’t push his luck.  “It never sticks with us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.  Me, Dean and Cas.”  _Mom,_ he mentally added, then banished the thought.  He couldn’t afford the distraction.

“Cas?” Gabriel’s eyes lit up.  “ _Castiel_?  He’s here?”

“Sometimes.”  Sam shifted nervously, pushing off the wall to stand upright.  “He’s out right now…with Dean…on a hunt.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.  “And you’re, what—my babysitter?  Guard?”

“Nurse?” Sam tried to joke.  It fell flat.  “Cas healed you as much as he could, but we didn’t want to leave you alone in case you woke up.  Do you…do you need anything?”  Images of their empty kitchen flashed in his mind.  There was half a bowl of stale Cheerios left.  And coffee.  Not exactly the best recovery foods.

Gabriel looked down at himself.  Castiel had rid the rags of blood and grime, but the fabric was threadbare.  “Got any spare clothes?  I’d like to burn these.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve got a few things that might fit you.  You want to shower while I get them?”

Gabriel nodded.  The rage had died down, leaving him glassy-eyed and docile.  He followed Sam through the halls. 

 _He’s in shock,_ Sam thought.  _I think I’m in shock, too.  There’s an archangel in the bunker.  Again.  I’m_ alone _with an archangel in the bunker.  Again._ He tried not to think of the last time that had happened.  His chest ached at the memory.

Gabriel watched Sam ready the shower, suspicious but quiet.  He peeled the shirt off, revealing layers of scars Castiel’s grace couldn’t heal.  Magical brands and carved symbols stood out among his vessel’s visible ribs. 

Sam retreated from the bathroom.  The archangel had never been known for modesty, but it made him feel like a voyeur in a nightmare.  He checked his phone—no new messages. 

Forty minutes had passed since he’d made the coffee.  Forty days of rain to flood the Earth.  Forty days of wandering through deserts.  Forty days of Lucifer tempting Jesus.

Dean’s clothes were way too large for Gabriel.  Sam braced himself before opening the door to a room that had remained closed for over three years.  Dust covered the piles of books and papers and empty cans of Red Bull strewn across every surface. 

He pushed forward, determined to not look too closely at anything.  The clothes were still there, folded neatly in a drawer where Dean had put them.  Kevin had never been too keen on laundry.

Sam picked the softest, baggiest items he could find.  The sweatpants, t-shirt, and hoodie all brought back memories of the young man who’d worn them.  He debated on undergarments, wondering if they were too personal, then grabbed a pair of boxers and socks too.  Gabriel could decide to go commando if he wished.

The archangel was still showering when Sam laid the clothes out on the sink.  A spare toothbrush and toothpaste joined them.  Severe amounts of steam coated the bathroom, but he understood the need to burn away the touch of others.  Sam had taken enough scalding showers himself.

“I’ll be in the library if you want to join me when you’re done,” he said above the sound of running water.  “Just turn right out of the bathroom and go straight down the hall.”

Gabriel grunted, but didn’t answer. 

Sam made more coffee, cleaning up the mess in the kitchen while it brewed.  He found an old package of saltine crackers in the back of the pantry that were miraculously not out of date.  Crackers and coffee—like some kind of twisted communion. 

He laid out his meager offerings on the library table and sat down.  The cell phone screen mocked him, but he still stared and counted the minutes.  It helped, measuring moments and finding their meanings.  He needed things to have meaning, even if it was just a number connected to ancient lore.  It was better than drifting without purpose.

Thirteen minutes later, Gabriel appeared beside him. 

Sam startled and dropped his phone.  It clattered against the table, the sound echoing through the room.  Thirteen—the number of times marched around Jericho, of famines listed in the Bible, of sins Jesus said could defile a person. 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “Pretty jumpy for a guy trying to convince me how safe we are not even an hour ago.”

The archangel’s hair was longer now, falling to his shoulders in curly waves.  Kevin’s clothes fit him almost perfectly.  Gabriel looked like a graduate student—if it weren’t for the scars around his mouth. 

Sam realized he was staring when Gabriel narrowed his eyes and glared back.  “Yeah,” he finally said, clearing his throat and taking a swig of coffee, “we don’t get a lot of guests at the bunker.”

“Probably because it’s a bunker,” Gabriel muttered. 

“Probably.”  Sam smiled at the hint of sarcasm he heard from the other.  It was good to know a little of the old Trickster still existed. 

Gabriel just shook his head and began a slow inspection of the room.  He didn’t touch anything.  His arms still hung, forgotten at his sides.  But he looked at everything—even sniffed one of the artifacts. 

Sam sipped his coffee and wished he still had his blanket.  The cold was getting to him again, but wrapping himself up like an invalid wasn’t something he could do with prying eyes around.  Instead, he held the cooling mug and checked his phone again. 

Six minutes had passed since Gabriel’s entrance.  The number symbolizing man’s weakness and the day of their creation.  Six earthquakes listed in the Bible.  Six times Jesus was accused of demon possession. 

“Tell me about this hunt our brothers are on.” 

Sam managed not to jump this time, but it was a close call.  Gabriel had sat across from him at the table at some point.  His silent movements were unnerving. 

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because you keep staring at that phone like you’re expecting news.  And I get the impression that this isn’t some salt-and-burn job if Cassie tagged along.”  Gabriel leaned forward, a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.  “Or did those two finally, you know, confess their undying love to each other?”

Sam snorted and relaxed a little.  He’d rather talk about Dean and Castiel’s emotional constipation than their current mission.  “No.  Although I think they’re getting close.”

“Right,” Gabriel drawled, rolling his eyes.  “What year is it again?”

Sam glanced at his phone.  “Twenty-seventeen.”  Twenty—the number of years captives waited to be freed.  Seventeen—the numeric symbol of complete victory over God’s adversaries.  A fitting combination for the archangel’s return.

“Yeah, I wasn’t being serious.”  Gabriel looked bewildered.  “I may have been locked away in a dungeon for a super long time, but I still know what year it is.”

“Oh.”  Sam looked down at his coffee, feeling stupid.  He pushed the box of saltines toward Gabriel.  “Are you hungry?”

“For crackers a year out of date?  No, thanks, I’ll pass.”

“What?  No, they’re still good.  I checked.”

“Did you compare dates with a current calendar?” Gabriel slid the box back across the table.  “Because these expired almost a year ago.”

Sam frowned at the date and sunk lower in his seat.  “Well, shit.  I think that was all we have left.  We haven’t done a grocery run in a while.”

“Been busy?”

“You could say that.”  They had too many priorities above food at the moment.  Rescuing Mary and Jack from the other world.  Stopping that world’s Michael from invading and destroying their own.  _Lucifer._

The cold was unbearable.  Sam stood too fast, knocking his chair back several inches.  The sudden movement startled Gabriel who jumped to his feet with a snarl.  They stared at each other like two wounded animals waiting to see who would strike first. 

“Y-you want some coffee?” Sam whispered, barely able to draw in breath as he walked sideways toward the kitchen.  He couldn’t turn his back on the archangel. 

Gabriel calmed when no attack came and blinked at the question.  “Coffee?”  He said the word like it was unknown to him.

“Yeah.  Or w-water?” Sam shivered.  “We’ve got that too.”

“Sure,” Gabriel said, drawing out the word in his confusion. 

The walked side-by-side through the hallway, keeping each other in view.  Sam checked the phone still clutched in his hand.  The coffee should still be good—it was only made thirty-three minutes ago.

Thirty-three.  The number of sons had by Adam and Eve.  The number of years King David ruled over the entire Israelite nation.  The number of years Jesus spent on Earth. 

“Sorry, we don’t have any cream or sugar.”  Sam handed a mug to Gabriel before refilling his own.  The heat wasn’t enough.  It didn’t reach past his skin and melt the ice inside his bones like he needed.  But it was better than nothing. 

Gabriel placed his mug down without drinking.  “I don’t need food or drink, but you do.  I can snap up whatever you want.”  He raised his hand, fingers at the ready.

“No!” Sam dropped his mug, not noticing as it shattered and splashed the hot liquid across his feet.  The phone stayed permanently clamped within his fingers as he held out both hands. 

Gabriel hissed and jumped back, grace crackling audibly.  His torn lips parted, baring his teeth.  His hands were a twisted mirror of Sam’s—ready to strike instead of defend.

“I’m sorry,” Sam gasped.  He took a step back, sliding on the wet floor in soaked socks.  His foot slipped and he felt his body twist too hard, overcompensating in panic.  The other foot followed and the ceiling filled his vision.  A sharp pain erupted in his skull, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Gabriel remained still, staring in shock at the fallen hunter.  It didn’t feel like a trick—his grace told him Sam was unconscious.  But fight-or-flight still had him coiled tight within his vessel.

He’d been so confused when he first woke up.  There were wards layered throughout his new prison, but they were weak—insignificant compared to the power of an archangel.  Then, he realized he could _feel_ the wards with grace that was no longer bound.  Which led to the discovery that his chains were gone and his mouth freed of threads. 

The surge of grace, so long pushed down by magic and siphoned off by Asmodeus, had felt like freedom.  It also drew the attention of the only other living occupant Gabriel could sense.  The human, with his faint soul-glow, had shambled in without so much as a butter knife as a weapon. 

Gabriel had contemplated running.  There was nothing keeping him here beyond his own curiosity and desire for revenge.  He relished the fear that rolled off the human.  It had been so long since anyone _feared_ Gabriel.

Light had clarified nothing, only heightening his own confusion.  Sam Winchester was the last person he’d expected to see.  He barely recognized the poor creature who stood in the doorway. 

 _What the **fuck** had happened?_  

Gabriel shook his head, returning his wandering mind to the present.  A pool of blood slowly formed on the floor like a grotesque halo around Sam’s head.  The sight spurred him into action.

He didn’t know where Sam’s room was located, so he snapped them to the place Gabriel had first awakened.  Sam appeared on the bed, his face paler than before.  A quick examination revealed a mild concussion and laceration.  He healed them with a touch and removed the blood. 

Sam remained still. 

Gabriel let him sleep.  The hunter’s body was run down from exhaustion and malnutrition.  In fact, he’d wager that Sam was in worse condition than himself.  Most of the damage was below the surface, invisible to the human eye.

Gone was the boy Gabriel had last seen in the Elysian Fields.  That Sam had been blindingly bright, full of desperate determination.  Not even demon blood could hide the purity and strength of his soul. 

Gabriel shuddered to think what that boy had gone through to become the broken mess laid out on the bed.  This Sam had scars, both physical and spiritual, that spoke of unimaginable tortures.  Even unconscious, the faint light of his soul recoiled from Gabriel’s grace.  He had never see a person’s spirit do that before. 

His gaze moved down the hunter’s body, landing on the coffee-soaked feet.  It looked uncomfortable, and since they’d done their best to clean him up after Asmodeus’ prison, Gabriel thought he’d return the favor.  He peeled the offending items off, tossing them to the floor, when something caught his eye.

A scar, held together by familiar grace, ran along the bottom of Sam’s right foot.  It was faint enough that Sam possibly didn’t even notice it, but it was obvious to an archangel.  A recent injury, less than a year old, that was healed by a weak angel.  It looked like a nasty burn—and there were very few scenarios that led to that kind of injury that didn’t involve a deliberate act.

The foot kicked out of his grasp, almost knocking Gabriel over in surprise.  He looked up to find Sam scrambling back against the headboard, eyes wide with alarm.  Gabriel slowly straightened up, his face a mask of indifference. 

“What…what happened?  Where…?” Sam’s gaze swept the room, breathing hard.  “Why are you…what happened?”

“You fell,” Gabriel said simply.  “Knocked yourself out.  I healed you.”

Sam looked at him accusingly, like Gabriel had committed a horrible crime by not letting him bleed out on the floor.  Then, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  When he opened them again, he looked…resigned.  Not the emotion Gabriel was expecting.

“Thanks,” Sam said, sounding unsure. 

“You don’t seem happy about it.”  Gabriel wanted to move forward, but the hunter was about to vibrate off the bed. 

“No, I…I just don’t like,” Sam’s words tumbled out too fast as he rolled off the opposite side of the bed, “I’m not used to…I was asleep, and you healed me, and I don’t like not knowing.  But you didn’t know and Dean always says I bleed a lot from head wounds, so thanks.”

Gabriel mentally sorted through Sam’s rant.  “Oh.  Sorry.”  _Note to self,_ he thought, _no healing the Sasquatch without permission—unless it’s life or death._

“Yeah, no…it’s okay.  Just bad past experiences, you know?”  Sam ran a hand nervously through his hair and tried to smile.

Gabriel nodded even though he _didn’t_ know at all.

Sam dropped his hand, then stared at it in horror.  Gabriel worried he’d missed some blood in his clean-up, but the hunter’s palm was clean.  “Oh God, my phone!”

“It’s on the kitchen floor, I think,” Gabriel said.  Sam was out the door before he’d finished speaking.  Gabriel walked at a slower pace, shaking his head as he followed the sound of bare feet running to the kitchen. 

He didn’t even make it all the way before Sam was passing him again, running toward the library.  Gabriel turned and watched the hunter scramble for a charging cord under a small table.  He didn’t like the way Sam’s hands shook trying to plug the phone in.

Sam sighed in relief when the phone lit up.  Then he physically sagged to the floor when he found no new messages.  “Damn it,” he whispered.

“You ready to tell me what’s going on?” Gabriel asked. 

Sam shifted and sat fully on the ground, refusing to let go of the phone.  But he nodded.  “Yeah.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and pulled two armchairs over.  He’d never learn anything if the hunter froze to death on the floor.  Sam smiled gratefully.  Neither spoke for several minutes—just sat silently, lost in thought.

Finally, Gabriel cleared his throat—speaking was still difficult after going so long without his voice.  “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this has something to do with the fact that my brother is still free and apparently has a son.”

The blood drained so fast from Sam’s face that Gabriel feared he’d pass out.  “Th-that’s an incredibly insightful and accurate guess,” Sam said with a forced calm.  “How…?”

Gabriel shrugged.  “I heard Cas and Lucifer talking.  Asmodeus kept them prisoner in his open cells.  Not as deluxe and warded as mine, but I could still hear them.  Luci’s gotten super whiny in his old age.”

The corner of Sam’s lip quirked, but failed to go further.  “No kidding,” he agreed.

“What I can’t figure out is how the Earth is still standing.  I mean, if he took out Michael and survived, then why isn’t everything dust?  Don’t tell me he fell in love with a human and had a kid.”

“No.  He certainly didn’t do that.  Well,” Sam scrubbed at his face wearily, “he _did_ have a kid.  But there was no love involved.  And he didn’t take out Michael.”

“Then what—”

“Michael’s in the Cage,” Sam said bluntly, cutting him off.  “Your plan worked.  I said ‘yes’ to Lucifer, took control, and dragged Michael down with us when I jumped.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath and leaned forward.  “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Sleep never came to Sam that night. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lucifer staring back at him.  Or Mary screaming, trapped in a cage of spikes.  Or Jack getting torn apart by another world’s Michael.  Or Dean’s corpse laid out next to Castiel’s empty vessel under the burnt outline of wings.

He’d told Gabriel most of the main events that had happened over the past eight years.  Heaven’s civil war, Raphael’s death, the Leviathans and Eve, Abaddon, Metatron and the trials, Dean taking the Mark of Cain, Amara—he told it all.  It left him gutted and emptied and oddly purified.

In return, the archangel had shared how he’d used a fake blade in his battle with Lucifer.  How faking his death had left him severely underpowered and vulnerable.  Other gods, arriving late to the party, discovered the decimated corpses of their brethren.  They took Gabriel as a token to play if needed—a last resort weapon to go against whichever archangel won the final battle.

When the apocalypse suddenly stopped, Gabriel was no longer needed.  He was traded, first for secrets, then for weapons, deals, treaties.  He passed through several pantheons—Egyptian to Greek to Roman—until he ended up back with the Norse gods he’d once called family.  They sewed his mouth shut as punishment for what they saw as his betrayal. 

Asmodeus bought him in exchange for some scrolls, raw crafting materials found in Hell, and a Hellhound puppy.  The Prince of Hell bound Gabriel in chains, branded him in sigils that allowed him access to the archangel’s grace and abilities, and threw him into a specially warded cell.  That had been six months ago. 

Sam stared at his ceiling fan.  He knew Gabriel was hurting—knew what it was like to have his mouth sewn shut and be tortured by those he loved.  Lucifer had often enjoyed wearing the faces of Sam’s family members when wielding whips and scalpels. 

He glanced at his phone.  It was almost five in the morning and there were no new messages.  Sighing, he rolled out of bed and turned off his alarm before it could sound.  Sleep was a lost cause once again.

The smell of bacon hit him when he opened his door.  He followed it to the kitchen and found Gabriel stirring a bowl of what looked like pancake batter.  “What are you doing?”

Gabriel gave him a playful smirk that made Sam’s chest clench.  It was _all_ Trickster, even with the scarred lips.  “I’m building a boat!”

“You’re…what?”

“I’m making breakfast, stupid.”  Gabriel’s gaze turned sharp as he took in Sam’s ragged appearance.  “I don’t know how you expect to nurse me back to health when you’re two steps away from death yourself.”

Sam blinked back tears.  Dean had tried to make pancakes for him a few weeks ago.  They’d gone cold and uneaten. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” Gabriel said, turning toward the stove, “I snapped up some groceries.  You weren’t kidding about there being nothing here.  What have you been eating this whole time?  Rats?”

“Umm, there were some Cheerios,” Sam said in a tight voice.  The coffee pot was full and the scent of hazelnut grew as he walked closer.  It was his favorite. 

“There’s sugar in the canister and half-and-half in the fridge,” Gabriel called over his shoulder. 

“Thanks.”  Sam poured a cup and added more sugar than usual.  “You really didn’t have to do all…”

“Oh, shut up and eat already.”  Gabriel pushed a plate of bacon and eggs in his direction.  “Pancakes will be done in a few minutes.  You want syrup or fruit?” 

“Strawberries?” Sam asked tentatively, sipping the delicious and hot brew. 

“Coming right up.”

Gabriel joined him at the table, setting a plate of giant fluffy pancakes covered in fresh strawberries next to him.  The archangel’s own plate held a stack of at least five, smothered in every imaginable syrup, several different fruits, and topped with whipped cream.  Sam grimaced at the sheer amount of sugar present on the plate.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel said around a mouthful of food, “you do _not_ get to judge what I eat when you’ve been surviving off less food than a toddler for Dad-knows how long.”

“I have not,” Sam said, frowning. 

“Spoken like a true toddler.”  Gabriel grinned.  There was whipped cream on his nose.  “Keep that up and I’ll put you down for a nap later.”

Sam shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and tried not to pout. 

He’d failed miserably if Gabriel’s snort was any indication.

* * *

Gabriel spent the morning exploring the bunker.  It felt good just to move around unhindered by chains.  And the Men of Letters had some crazy shit in their bunker—stuff he was sure the Winchesters didn’t even know about.

Sam drifted in and out of the various rooms like a phantom.  He only spoke occasionally to check on Gabriel or answer a question, then he’d wander off again.  Always clinging to that damn phone.

Not that Gabriel blamed him for wanting news.  His grace still shook with the things he’d learned the night before.  He’d known Lucifer was capable of terrible things even before the older archangel had driven a blade through Gabriel’s heart.  But it seemed like that cruelty extended far beyond the fallen angel—all of Heaven was responsible for the scars on Samuel Winchester’s soul.

Something had changed between them since their conversation.  Gabriel couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but he felt it more and more every time he saw the hunter.  Sam still tensed in his presence, still skirted around him without touching and avoided direct eye contact when possible.  But the extreme panic faded with each moment shared that didn’t end in pain—for both of them. 

Gabriel made lunch despite Sam’s protests that he was still full from breakfast.  He kept it light—fresh fruit, cheese, and chicken salad with toast.  They ate together again, the archangel drawing more strength from being near the brightening soul than the food.

Sam refused to take a nap that afternoon, still sulking over being called a toddler.  Gabriel thought it was a little adorable if it weren’t for the dark circles under the hunter’s eyes.  He could tell the insomnia was not a recent development.

Instead, they went outside for a walk.  It was Gabriel’s first time seeing sunlight in over a year.  The warm rays caressed his grace and coaxed his wings out of hiding.  The unfurled slowly, stretching in ways that brought tears to his eyes.

Sam shot him sideways glances as they strolled along the tree-line. 

“What?” Gabriel asked after the fifth time.

Sam flinched and hunched over a little.  “Nothing.”

“Come on,” Gabriel nudged him with an elbow, “out with it.  Do I have something on my face?  Or are you just blinded by my beauty?”  He grinned broadly even though it pulled uncomfortably on his mouth.  It was worth it just to see the blush on the hunter’s cheeks.

“It’s nothing, really.  I just can’t believe you’re really here, you know?”  Sam shrugged and kept his eyes trained on the ground.  

“Aww, did you _miss_ little ol’ me?”

“I didn’t really know you.”  Sam rubbed the back of his neck.  “I thought about you a lot over the years.  How things might have been different if you were still around.”

“From what you’ve described, it definitely sounds like you could have used me.”  He could only imagine how desperate Sam must have been to seek Lucifer’s assistance with Amara. 

“That…that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?”

“I mean…”  Sam stopped walking.  “I mean, we weren’t really friends, but we weren’t really enemies either.  You did things to me, awful things, but I know now what you were trying to prevent.  And I can’t entirely blame you for trying even if I wished you’d done it differently.”

“Sam…” Guilt rose in Gabriel—a sickening sensation he was completely not used to feeling.

“We had this case a few years back at a high school theater club.  We walked in wearing our FBI suites and found all these girls dressed like _us_ and people we knew—Bobby, Dad, Cas.  And for a split second, I thought you’d had something to do with it.”

“You did?” Gabriel asked, surprised.

Sam nodded with a grin.  “Especially when they started singing.”

Gabriel laughed.  “I would honestly pay _gold_ to see that.  Was it another Trickster?”

“Nope.  Just a bunch of high school girls who wrote a musical based on Chuck’s book series.  The case itself involved Calliope, but the play was just a coincidence.”

“Oh,” Gabriel shuddered dramatically, “she’s one beautiful goddess but she can get _real_ nasty.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Sam said dryly. 

They continued walking and Gabriel had to keep himself from skipping.  He felt lighter than he had in centuries.  Almost giddy.  “Soooo, any other cases that made you think I was lurking around the corner?”

“Well, there was one that involved a ghost that had latched onto a whole bunch of masks and mascot costumes.  The victims became possessed whenever they wore them.  We tried to interview the Easter Bunny in jail.”

Gabriel spent the rest of the afternoon and evening coaxing stories from Sam.  By the time they sat down to dinner, he’d heard about LARPing and Wizard of Oz adventures with their friend Charlie, Dean killing Hitler, faeries and UFOs, and an alternate reality where the brothers were actors in a show about their lives.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much.

And apparently, he wasn’t the only one experiencing the surreal joy.

“God,” Sam said, rubbing his jaws, “I think I’ve pulled something from smiling.  My face hurts.”

“Oh yeah?”  Gabriel spooned another helping onto the hunter’s plate.  “Well, it’s killing me!”

“What is?” Sam looked alarmed.

“Your face!”

Sam responded by throwing a dinner roll at him.

Gabriel counted it as a win when dinner ended without Sam glancing at his phone a single time.

* * *

Sam started nodding off mid-conversation only an hour after dinner.  Gabriel threatened to draw dicks on his face if he passed out in the library and all but physically pushed him down the hallway toward his bedroom.  He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

He woke up to the sound of someone banging on his door. 

“Sam!?  Sam, get up!” a voice screamed from the other side.  “Come on, kiddo!  I can’t come in there and I need you to _wake up fucking now!!_ ”

 _Gabriel!_   Sam threw himself from the bed, grabbing the gun under his pillow, and pulled open the door. 

The archangel looked pained, his fist raised mid-knock.  “Oh, thank Dad!  I thought I was going to have to bust out an airhorn.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, eyes scanning the hallway for enemies. 

“It’s Cas—he says they’re back and they need our help.  He can’t fly.”

Sam ran back to his bed and got his phone—no new messages.  He’d only slept for four hours.  Four gospels, four rivers branched from the river in Eden, four…

“Their phones are dead,” Gabriel explained quickly.  “We need to go.  Now!”

Sam changed his clothes, not caring that the archangel was watching.  “Did he say how far out they are?  Are they in the same place they left from?”

“They’re in North Cove…”

“Let’s go.” Sam interrupted, picking up the bag he kept packed for emergencies. “It’ll take us just over twenty-four hours, but I can probably shave a few…”

“England, Sam.”  Gabriel stopped him.  “They’re in North Cove, England.  You ain’t driving there.”

“Then how…”

“We’re flying,” Gabriel said with a frown.

“By plane?” Sam asked.  He tried to remember what credit cards they still had that weren’t maxed out yet.  And where he’d left his passport.  What if they were still on a government watch-list?

“No,” Gabriel said, looking at him like he was stupid, “by angel-air.”  He pointed to himself for emphasis.  “I know I’m an angel, right?  Come on, we need to go.”

Sam took a step back on instinct when Gabriel reached for him.  It had been years since any angel had their wings.  And he’d never been a fan of flying…or being touched by grace.  “A-are you sure?  I mean, you just…”

“Sam, Cassie and your mom are both injured and they’re stuck in another country without identification.  A country, I might add, where the British Men of Letters has the supernatural on lockdown.  If you want to stay here or take a plane, that’s up to you.  But I’m leaving now.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam looked down at the archangel’s hand.  He grabbed it and gave Gabriel a nod of consent.  “Okay.”  His family needed him.

* * *

Gabriel flew them to marshlands outside the tiny village.  The trip was a little rocky after his wings had been bound for so long, but they made it in one piece.  He kept his hold on Sam just long enough for the hunter to gain his bearings, then rushed to the group of wayward warriors. 

Mary laid unconscious on the ground while Castiel knelt by her side.  The idiot was using what little grace he had to try and heal her even though his own vessel was bleeding out.  Dean paced over them while a young man watched in silence.  They were all covered in the dust and blood from the other universe.

“I got it, Cassie,” Gabriel said, gently pushing his brother out of the way.  He sent a burst of grace into the seraph, healing the vessel and sealing off the grace injuries he found below the flesh.  Looked like someone had stuck him with an angel blade—not enough to kill, but enough that he was losing grace as quickly as blood.

Mary was another matter.  The woman had been tortured for weeks.  Lacerations and bruises littered her body from head to toe.  He remembered Lucifer describing her predicament to Castiel in the prison and had to push the image out of his head.  “Hold on, momma,” Gabriel whispered.  He laid hands over her heart, and unleashed his grace. 

Sam’s voice drifted over him, demanding to know what had happened and if everyone else was okay.  Dean muttered an answer but Gabriel didn’t pay attention.  Scrapes and bruises could wait until they returned to the safety of the bunker.

 _When did I start considering the bunker as ‘safe?’_ he wondered.  The wounds glowed white-gold one at a time before vanishing.  It felt good to use his grace for something besides fighting.  _I guess Sam wasn’t lying after all._

Mary’s eyes fluttered open and she stared uncomprehendingly at him.  Then, she gasped in horror and tried to scramble away.  Dean rushed forward to reassure her.

“Mom?  Mom!  It’s cool, you’re safe.  He’s a…friend.”  Dean winced, and Gabriel almost felt insulted.  But it was fair—he _had_ killed the hunter over a hundred times and locked him inside a pocket dimension of rotating television shows.

“Where are we?  Who…” she kept staring at Gabriel.

“Archangel Gabriel, at your service.”  He gave a bow with minimal flourish.  “Please don’t let my delightfully grotesque appearance scare you.  I assure you, I am quite nice and a perfect gentleman.  Just ask Sammy!”

“Gabriel?” Mary asked timidly.  “Another archangel?  I thought…weren’t you dead?”

“I think that could be said of every person here,” Gabriel looked around their group, his eyes stopping on an unfamiliar young man, “except you.  Let’s see—floppy hair, puppy-dog eyes, enough grace to power a galaxy.  You must be Jack.”  He smiled softly at the boy who was leaning against Sam. 

“I am!” Jack said, returning the smile.

“Oh, you are precious!  I’m your Uncle Gabriel.  It’s very nice to meet you Jack.  Sammy’s told me a lot about you.”

Jack moved away from Sam, limping on his right leg, and enveloped Gabriel in a hug.  The archangel startled in surprise before returning the embrace.  It was like hugging sunshine on a hot summer day.  He sent a tendril of healing grace into the boy, fixing the gash and hairline fracture.

It ended too soon with Jack stepping back.  “Thank you, Uncle Gabriel.”

Gabriel flushed with delight at the title.  He’d had lots of them through the years—Messenger of God, Archangel of Justice, Trickster, Loki.  “Uncle Gabriel” was definitely his new favorite.

“Oh man, who taught you to be so polite?” Gabriel wiped his eyes before rounding on Sam and Castiel.  “It was one of you, wasn’t it?  I know Deano didn’t teach him manners.  Now I’m gonna have to corrupt him with dirty jokes and swear words and candy.”

“I like candy!” Jack said excitedly.

“That’s my boy.”  Gabriel patted his shoulder, then turned to the group.  “Alright, kids.  Who’s ready to get this show on the road?”

It took some convincing before Dean agreed to fly.  But given the choice between an airplane that involved dealing with customs and being instantly back in the bunker he quickly caved.  Gabriel made a show of arranging them so everyone was touching, then simply snapped them all home. 

“Why did I have to hold hands with Cas if you weren’t even touching anyone?” Dean demanded as soon as they arrived.

“Because you looked so damn cute!” Gabriel laughed, winking at Castiel.  “You can thank me later, bro.  Now, if anyone’s hungry, the kitchen is fully stocked and there are leftovers in the fridge.”

“I’m gonna go crash.”  Mary yawned and shook her head.  “Is it okay to use my old room still?”

“Yeah, mom,” Dean said.  “We changed the linens on the bed, but everything else is the same.”

She hugged Dean goodnight, then nodded to each angel.  Sam shifted nervously in place when she moved to him.  “Goodnight, Sammy,” she whispered.

“’Night, mom,” he mumbled into her hair.

She patted his cheek, then disappeared down the hallway.

“Right,” Gabriel clapped his hands together, taking pride in seeing both remaining humans jump.  “Bedtime for the rest of you Winchesters.  Let’s get you tucked in.  Not you, Deano.  I’ll leave that to Cas-a-frass.  Jack—I’ll be back out to evaluate your candy knowledge in a few.”

Sam stood there, still slightly dazed from his mother’s hug.  He allowed the archangel to steer him back to his bedroom.  Gabriel felt worry build at the passive submission.

“You doing okay there, Sam?” Gabriel asked in a low voice.  He felt the man start to shake—a full body tremble that grew in place of an answer.  “Whoa.  Okay.  Okay, how about we go hang out in my room for a bit.” 

Sam said nothing as they walked.  Once in his room, Gabriel contemplated closing the door but decided to just shut it part-way—enough to give them privacy without making them feel trapped.  He wasn’t ready to stay confined in a small room with no windows again.

He gently pushed Sam to sit on the bed, and the oversized man willingly folded.  As the shaking got worse, Sam seemed to tense his muscles more in an effort to keep it contained.  He didn’t appear to be aware of his surroundings at all.

Gabriel dragged a chair over and sat face-to-face with Sam.  He didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he wanted to help.  Feeling useful was like a new drug and he was hooked.

“Okay, Sam.  You’re okay.”  He reached for Sam’s hands and discovered the damned cell phone.  As carefully as possible, he pried it from the man’s crushing grip, worried it might actually break and cause injury.  “Everyone’s home and safe now, so you can let go.  Okay?”

“No!” Sam gasped, reaching to take it back. 

Gabriel set it on the end table and gathered Sam’s hands together.  “You don’t need to check for messages.  Everyone you know is here.  If they need something, they can walk down the hall and say it in person.”

“I-I need to know what time it is…how much time has passed…” Sam grew more frantic with each word. 

“Why?”

“Because…because there’s meaning…it means…”  Sam’s breathing was too fast, too shallow.  “I thought…I thought it would be better.”

“What would be better?” Gabriel’s thumbs soothed circles over the hammering pulse point on Sam’s wrists.

“Having them back.  But they’re here and nothing feels _different_!”  Sam tried to reach again for his phone, but Gabriel held him in place.

“What did you want to feel different?”

“Me!” Sam let out a sob and curled in on himself.  His hands clenched and fought against Gabriel’s grasp for a second like he wanted to bury his fingers in his hair.  “Why was I even there?  I did nothing!  I’m useless!”

Gabriel heard the change of tense— _am_ useless, not _was_ useless.  “You are not useless.”

“I am!”  Sam insisted.  “I mean, what am I doing?”

“Right now?  You’re having an excellent panic attack.”  Gabriel tried to keep his tone light.

“Dean keeps telling me I’m in a ‘dark place’ and I don’t even know what that means anymore.  I don’t even know if I _care._ ”

“That’s the definition of ‘dark place,’ and it’s nothing you need to worry about right now.”  Gabriel sighed.  “Sam, look at me.  Please?”

It took a moment, but Sam eventually lifted his head enough to peer at the archangel through a mess of hair.  He looked wrecked—pale skin, eyes red and glossy from tears he’d managed to keep from falling. 

“You, sir, are not useless.”  Gabriel rested his palm on Sam’s cheek, pleased when the man leaned into the touch instead of pulling away.  “You are tired.  You are allowed to be tired.  I’m tired too.”

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” Sam whispered.

“Do what?”  Gabriel feared the answer was “living.” 

“This!  ‘Saving people, hunting things…the family business.’”  He let out a wet laugh.

“I think that you’ve saved enough people.”

“I haven’t saved anyone in a while.  I may as well not have even been here tonight.  You could have gotten to them faster if I hadn’t held you up with questions…”

“You saved me.”

Sam made a face.  “I did not.  I got you killed...or taken prisoner, since I guess you didn’t die.”

“No,” Gabriel held his chin in a firm grip.  “You are not responsible for my own decisions.  I chose to run away from Heaven.  I could have stayed, guided my family down a better path, but I didn’t.  I chose to become the Trickster instead of taking a stand.  And when I did, it was _my choice._   You don’t get to take credit.”

“That doesn’t mean I saved you.  We didn’t even know you were alive.  Fucking Ketch brought you to us!”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “First of all, if you hadn’t stopped the apocalypse then none of us would be here today.  Secondly, if you hadn’t been here when I woke up then I could never have answered Castiel’s call tonight.”

“That’s not true…”

“Sam, I was _angry_ when I woke up.  Angry and so fucking scared and suddenly in control of my powers again.  If it had been _anyone_ besides you who came through that door, I would have wiped most of Kansas off the map.”

“No, you…”

“I almost incinerated you just because I could.  Just to prove to myself that no one would dare hurt me again.  And you…you big, lumbering idiot…just walked in here wearing _socks_ …without a weapon.  Told me I was _safe,_ even when you didn’t feel safe yourself.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe,” Sam confessed in barely a whisper.

Gabriel struggled to keep his grace contained.  It railed against him, wanting to surround the pieces of soul that kept surviving no matter what the universe did to it.  “I know.  And that’s not fair.”

“What are we gonna do?  Lucifer is…”

“Not your problem.  Not tonight.  Not ever, if I have any say in it.”

“But…”

“Nope—no butts unless you’re talking about mine.”  Gabriel winked and was rewarded with a small smile.  “Come on, kiddo.  Time to rest that weary head and get some sleep.”

“Here?”

Gabriel couldn’t tell if Sam was hopeful or not.  “If you’d like.  You can sleep here and I can go hang out with Jack or stay here with you.”

Sam nodded and rolled onto his side, his eyes already drooping.  He kept hold of one of Gabriel’s hands, though, and squeezed it when the archangel started to let go.  “Stay?  Just for a little while?  I know Jack is excited to have another angel to talk to, and I don’t want to keep…”

“Hush your face.  And scoot over a bit.”  Gabriel wedged himself on the bed next to Sam, lacing their fingers together.  He ran his other hand through the man’s hair.  “You just sleep.  Your family’s safe.  _You are safe._   We have time to figure out the rest.”

Sam pressed his face into the archangel’s hip, tears finally escaping from behind closed eyes.  He never made a sound—just held tight to Gabriel’s hand like it was a life-line.  It took less than five minutes for him to fall asleep.

Gabriel stayed and continued playing with Sam’s hair.  A soft knock at the door made the hunter flinch, but he didn’t wake up.  “Come in,” Gabriel whispered, already knowing who was in the hallway.

The door slowly opened and Jack peered into the room.  “Is Sam okay?” he asked quietly, worry written all over his face. 

The only thing this boy had gotten from Lucifer was his power.  Everything else—the empathy, joy, curiosity—came from this little family that had formed around him.  Gabriel hoped to find a place within that family.

He smiled at his nephew.  “Not yet, but he will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons
> 
> Serve God love me and mend  
> This is not the end  
> Live unbruised we are friends  
> And I'm sorry  
> I'm sorry
> 
> Sigh no more, no more  
> One foot in sea one on shore  
> My heart was never pure  
> You know me  
> You know me
> 
> And man is a giddy thing  
> Oh man is a giddy thing  
> Oh man is a giddy thing  
> Oh man is a giddy thing
> 
> Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,  
> It will set you free  
> Be more like the man you were made to be  
> There is a design,  
> An alignment to cry,  
> Of my heart to see,  
> The beauty of love as it was made to be


End file.
